No Time to Fight
by wingeddserpent
Summary: Lightning and Fang can't seem to play nice.


It happens so fast Lightning can't stop it. Crying out something that sounds an awful lot like her sister's name, Snow collapses to the ground just before she can hit him with a healing spell. Of course, he also chooses to fall unconscious moments before Fang runs the Behemoth through with her lance and it falls to the ground with a garbled cry. Typical Snow and his bad timing.

"Well?" Fang arches an eyebrow. "Gonna Raise him? Glaring at him probably won't make him wake up, just sayin'."

"I learned Ruinga instead of Raise," Lightning says quietly, glaring at the prone form of Snow as though this is all his fault.

Fang heaves a sigh and moves to kneel next to Snow. "I thought that, since we had a Medic and we were only scouting, I'd leave the Phoenix Downs back at camp." Her tone is light, but it bubbles with frustration.

Muscles straining beneath tanned skin, Fang yanks Snow up and leans him against her side, wrapping an arm around his thick waist to keep him from toppling over. "Gonna give me a hand?" Fang asks, "We're going back."

"That'll waste time. We need to find the road to Oerba," Lightning says, turning away from Fang to face the way they had been going.

Behind her, Fang growls, "And what about him? You gonna leave him like you left—"

"Of course not." She swivels around to glare at Fang. "We'll carry him until he wakes up."

"Not happening. That's a sure way to get us killed out here. We don't have pushover monsters like you're used to on Cocoon."

Lightning shakes her head. "We don't have time to baby him, and we don't have time to argue. We're moving forward."

Fang gives another sigh, even more frustrated. With slow and calculated movements, she sets Snow down with a surprising gentleness. His head lolls and drool trickles down into the beginnings of a scraggly beard. "You're right. We don't have time to argue," and, lightning quick, she whips her lance out, points gleaming wickedly in the Pulse sun.

Eyes gone wide with surprise, Lightning yanks her gunblade from its holster, aiming at the other woman. Beneath both their feet, the ground glows red briefly, as both switch to the Commando role. "We're wasting time," Lightning says, even as she launches forward.

"Well, your options are fight me," Fang says, dodging a wicked slash from the gunblade with practiced ease, "Or we go back to camp. Your call."

"You can go back. I'm going on ahead." Lightning aims her gunblade and shoots, grazing Fang's shoulder and making her hiss in pain.

Fang lunges, sweeping her lance in an arc that nearly leaves a nasty gash in Lightning's stomach. "Yeah, try it. You're better off letting me kill you here and now."

Opening her mouth to retort, Lightning gives a sharp cry as the spear slices her arm, blood sliding down her bicep. It's not deep, but it hurts like hell. Obviously, going toe to toe with this woman isn't a good idea. Beneath her feet the ground glows blue.

Fire and ice and lightning shoot at Fang in rapid succession, and with a growl that sounds more like something a Behemoth would make, Fang runs forward, slashing and hacking and shooting Ruin and Lightning can't move fast enough and attacks are landing and she hates being hit and she goes back to being a Commando but the time it takes gives Fang an opening that Lightning realizes she should never have given her when Fang drops her lance and uses the side of a straight hand to hit a pressure point on her shoulder.

The world goes black and, inwardly, Lightning swears at herself for underestimating a woman who's obviously done and seen a lot more than she has, more than she'll ever get a chance to see.

* * *

When she wakes up next, Snow's concerned face swims into view too close to her own. "You alright?" he asks.

"Fine," she says and stands abruptly, pushing him away. "Where's Fang."

"Scouting with Sazh and Hope," Vanille says cheerfully, cooking what looks to be half of a Behemoth's leg over an open fire.

Lightning reaches for her gunblade, only to find her holster is empty. "Where—?"

"Fang took it," Vanille tells her in a singsong voice, "She said she'd never used one before and wanted to give it a try."

Silence reigns for a good five seconds, before Snow grabs her shoulders to keep her from running off. "She'll give it back," he says and sounds almost certain but she just looks up and glares at him because he'll never understand the value of a good weapon.

He'll never understand the fact that it's hers and someone else using it isn't acceptable. "I'm going after her."

"Oh no you're not," Vanille says sternly and runs to block Lightning's way with hands on her hips. "They'll be back soon."

Snow nods, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders. Roughly, she pulls out of his grip—relieved to find her wounds have been healed—and stalks over to Vanille, raising her fist. "I'm going," she says.

Eyes wide, Vanille just looks at the fist but doesn't move. There's a beat of silence and then—damn it, she's changed, hasn't she?—Lightning turns and walks off, to sit on a rock outside of camp. She folds her legs and arms and waits, teeth gritted, and she watches Snow and Vanille blink in surprise because obviously Lightning having any sort of self-control is unheard of.

Time passes in a slow crawl and every sound makes her jump. Without her gunblade, she feels exposed and lost, she feels like Fang has run off with a piece of her soul. Absently, Lightning, pulls out her dagger, flipping it open and closed.

Every few minutes, Vanille and Snow glance over at her, but always seem to think better of disturbing her. Good. She isn't sure whether or not she can control herself a second time.

"We're back!" Hope calls, grinning with boyish excitement. "Is the food ready?"

"Yep," Vanille all but beams and then very seriously hands him a charred chunk of meat.

Weeks ago, he would have looked at it and refused. Now, all of them take what they can get. Who knows when the next meal will come along? While Vanille starts handing food out, Lightning lifts herself from the rock and goes to where Fang stands, laughing at Sazh, who's panting with exertion. "Old man, you shouldn't have agreed to race us." Her face is flushed from running and her hair is tousled by the wind. Well, more tousled than is usual.

When Lightning's fist collides with the side of her face, Fang stumbles back, clutching her jaw. "Where is it?" Lightning asks, voice low and shaking.

It's a surprise, somehow, when Fang's fist slams into her stomach. "Guess what, Light," she says, harshly, bruise already forming on her jaw, "You can't always get what you want."

The air whooshes out of her and anger sparks again, because does Fang really think she's some sort of spoiled child? She knows she can't get her way, she knows what it's like to lose, and, quite frankly, Fang is a fucking hypocrite and surely everyone can see it.

Anger boils and brims and she lunges, and punches Fang's stomach, so now they're even, and kicks Fang's feet out from underneath her. Quickly, Fang rolls to her feet, and after that it's a blur of limbs.

Punch, kick, dodge, roll, pinch, bite, stagger back, rinse and repeat. By time Sazh and Snow move to hold them back, Sazh wrapping arms around Lightning's shoulders and Snow restraining Fang with a vice-like bear hug from behind, both Lightning and Fang are covered with bruises and scratches and have their teeth bared.

"There's your damn gunblade," Fang says, and jerks her head to Hope, who's holding the gleaming weapon with wide eyes.

It looks no worse for wear and recently cleaned; Lightning stops struggling against Sazh's grip. "Were you... able to use it?" she asks taking a breath.

"Works pretty well, for a gun," Fang says offhandedly, "But not enough power for me."

For an instant, Lightning bristles—not enough power?—but then sees Fang's crooked grin beneath her split lip. "Can we trust you not to jump at each other's throats again?" Sazh asks.

Lightning nods, once, and is released for her efforts. Meanwhile, Fang elbows Snow in the ribs with a curt, "Down, boy," which really has never been a good way to talk to Snow, because he squeezes tighter. "Alright, alright," Fang gasps out, "I'll behave, I'll behave."

With a crooked grin that's almost, almost a smirk, Snow lets go and goes to eat. Meanwhile, Lightning walks over to Hope and expectantly holds her hand out for her gunblade. Hesitating just an instant, he nods his head and hands it to her and then he scurries off.

Fang walks over and winks at her. "It's a hard weapon to use," she says quietly and then, with a pat on Lightning's shoulder, she heads off, out of camp, her lance slung across her back, the sun gleaming off its red metal.

Briefly, Lightning grasps her gunblade tighter, feeling the coolness of its hilt beneath her fingertips. Then, she goes to eat.

* * *

Morning light flickers across the camp, last night's fire long dwindled to ash. Lightning blinks awake, sitting up in her bedroll, hand clenched tight around her dagger.

Something near her stirs the grass. Quickly, she glances over, only to see Fang—who had final watch—going through what appears to be a martial arts pattern, her lance lying atop her sari in the dew soaked grass.

This morning, she wears only her black undershirt and shorts, skin sweat-slicked and gleaming in the low dawn light. She twirls and kicks, moving flawlessly into a punch that probably would knock Snow off his feet, and then she dodges an invisible adversary, falling onto one knee, only to pop up again, fist outstretched and then moves seamlessly into a flying kick. Her pace picks up, limbs like lightning bolts, so fast that Lightning almost has difficulty keeping up with them.

Lightning stands up, quiet, so as not to wake anyone still sleeping. With a sharp move, Fang twirls, flat palm stopping millimeters from Lightning's nose.

"Sorry," Fang murmurs and steps back, her breath coming heavy.

There is a pause, then Lightning says softly, "Me too. For yesterday."

"Don't worry about it." With a shrug, Fang leans down to pick up her abandoned lance. "You're up early."

She's about to pick up her spear, when Lightning says, "Wait."

Both of them still, silent, watching one another, eyes locked. "Well? You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna ask?" Fang asks after a moment, quiet, so that no one will hear them and stir.

"Would..." Lightning looks down at the grass then back at Fang. "Would you like to spar?"

"Knocking my insides out won't solve your problems," says Fang shaking her head and closing her fingers around the shaft of her spear.

Lightning sighs. "I know it won't. I said I wanted to spar, not fight."

"You know the difference?" Fang's voice fills will some sort of shocked sarcasm, and then, perhaps realizing that Lightning is serious, says softly, "Alright."

They start slow, with only fists and grim smiles. The light grows brighter, Cocoon hangs above their heads, a constant reminder. Slowly, they pick up speed and power, legs added to the jumbled mesh of fists and smiles and rapid heartbeats. Lightning attempts to dodge, left, and gets caught in the side with a strong kick. The air rushes out and she's panting, fast.

"You add too many flips when you dodge," Fang says, rolling to avoid a frustrated kick. "You lose your natural speed. They don't need to be so fancy."

In response, Lightning throws a punch the second Fang stands that sends her stumbling back. "But damn you throw a good punch," Fang laughs lightly, wheezing a little.

When they are both sweating and covered with a fine smattering of cuts and bruises, Lightning steps back with a soft smile and cures them both. "I finally learned Raise," she says, running her fingers over a particularly nasty bruise on Fang's upper arm.

"Good." Fang gives a wink and a smile that would have rendered three-quarters of the male population in Bodhum speechless. And quite a few of the women, too.

Chuckling, Lightning just shakes her head. "Thanks," she says.

"Don't mention it," Fang tilts her head to the side and puts a hand on her hip. "You're good. Back in Oerba, you would've been a great warrior."

And, with a softer smile, Fang holds her arm up. Lightning's eyes widen slightly, but then she curls her hand into a fist and taps her forearm against Fang's.

"I'd better get dressed. After all, we've got the whole day ahead of us." Without another glance or word, Fang turns back to her spear and sari, leaving Lightning to smile and lament that they'll never get a chance to know each other half as well as they'd like to.

Time's running out, but there's never too little time to sharpen your skills. It won't be the last time they spar, that much is certain, and Lightning wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
